This text is a brutal text, once you've read it, there will be no point of return unless you deny the tale told in it. Of course, you're free to deny whatever you wish, but remember it is not the denial that will rescue you but the truth which will set you free. And this text is about freedom, freedom from the prison, the action of a monster made me create for myself. That prison is perhaps the only reason, she never tried to destroy me to cover up her crime(s) but that prison can only host a child, and I'm since a few years not a child anymore and that prison is cutting more and more on my body, to the point that death is less painful than a moment more of life under such circumstances.
This is a brutal text, and not everyone can handle reading it, so just because it is published doesn't mean I'm encouraging you to read it. Radioactive treatment is indeed the only mean available to date for certain illnesses, but every other healthy individual should rather protect him or herself from getting in its radiation. This text is one of a kind, it is upon you to distinguish whether you need radioactive treatment or should rather spare your psyche the inevitable harmful side-effects of exposure to it.
The signs were all over the place. But the latest one was more clear to me, because all the times before, they were wrapped within sad events:
There was this girl who would great me with a firm and loud "hello, Hossein!" and it was so hard for me to experience it. Parts of me is that spontaneous, full of energy human being that loves to have a friend that we great each other loudly, full of noise, gesture, and theatric movements. I always wished to live such a life. You never know whether someone and you can be wife and husband for a lifetime, for good but I still love the heartfelt greetings. In fact, I had day-dreamt of it, so much so that the moment I saw this scene in "The Greatest Showman", I knew I'll like that movie:
Dancing with a girl's hands in my hands in the middle of a street without any music playing in the background: of course! How could you expect otherwise from me? Do even know who I'm?
But there the reality was pouring into my life, and I couldn't even, I couldn't even reply "Hi."
At first, I thought I'm feeling embarrassed because her other female friends were standing around her, and none of them even greets me. But that's a stupid reason. That can't be the reason for someone who would dance in the middle of the street just because a girl who would walk on the tightrope has her hands in his! I've no shame of being theatrical in public. Being an artist is in my blood, I'm fucking born to be a filmmaker. Feeling embarrassed, because her other friends ... What the fuck? Are you kidding me? Artists & the shame of standing out? Artists are the ones who stand out!
It took a few years to realize why I was pushing back my own wishes.
It took about two years and a half to realize I've been pushing back everything that is me since almost forever, I have been compromising self-actualization since so many years ago ...
We were sitting on the table. The woman who has given birth to me, or better said, the body of that woman and I were sitting right in front of each other, and there was Hassan, the man who is a father and husband walking around in the kitchen.
The conversation was about why I say my marriage is a complicated thing. They wanted to know what is this "complication". They came up with suggestions, and I would reject until she ended up saying:
The way, you're continuing to say "no", the only other reason that remains is that you have a sexual problem!
I saw the look in her eyes, I couldn't see a human being.
You know, sometimes I feel things just by seeing things, for example, I can sense if the woman and her child, if it is really her child or if it is her husband's with another woman. Sometimes, I can feel if two people have slept with each other just by passing by. Maybe it's not a gift, maybe it is just some mental fantasy, but either way, I have a sense, and my sense isn't always that wrong.
But that moment, I didn't see a human being sitting in front of me. I didn't even saw a mother, even though the purpose of that trip was a reunion between parents and their son.
If all those years of living with them haven't thought me to pay attention to their words, I would have made the grave mistake of telling them. But there she was. The term she was using was "sexual problem"! That's a very calculated move. Because there is something she wouldn't talk about.
Now, as I'm writing this piece, I know what I saw: a monster. A monster disguised in a human's body, but a monster indeed.
I have no sexual problems, she knows it perfectly. She should know it from my teenage years and when I didn't know what masturbating was about – it's another disheartening story which compared to things I'm going to write about here is nothing; absolutely nothing. So no need to elaborate.
The term she was avoiding to use was "erotic trauma!" And of course, she would. In her world, she is the only person who has raped me. How stupid I was not to see this back then sitting at that table.
The problem with raping someone is that that individual stops being a human being to your psyche. You can't help yourself but see that individual as a commodity. It's an action that can't be reversed. Every other parent, of course, notices the signs of difference when their child has been raped – most parents do. She has a degree in pedagogy, so she should notice. But she doesn't know. Of course, she doesn't know. How could she? I'm not a human being in her eyes, so she could have noticed the changes in me. I'm her sex toy, not her son.
Rape is such a powerful tool. It changes relationships forever.
Saying the woman who gave birth to me has raped me is a big accusation, but I'm not accusing her of anything. I don't accuse her of anything. I was there. It was my body.
All these years, I had told to myself, "my parents love me, and it's my fault that I don't see it ..." so if there wasn't a mountain of evidence providing the background as to why she is capable of intentionally raping her own newborn sons, I wouldn't call it that way.
In fact, in some ways, I'm the luckier one, and in some ways, the unluckier one.
The reason I know she raped my younger brother is because she took the time to graphically describe what the doctors have done to him. In fact, I was so young that I didn't even know what "endoscopy" means. But she took care to explain to me. To describe the pain of the people who went into that room and the pain in which my brother had woken up.
Back then, I only wished in my inside that my brother get better soon. But years later, now when I look back: I see a monster who has only improved on her method of raping her male newborns.
She told me, "it was a medical emergency" about the thing I felt she had inserted in my butthole. I was in agony, but she kept laughing and continuing talking to whoever was behind the phone, which made me feel even more violated and humiliated. But she explained to me that it is all my fault if I'm having negative feelings because I should not have any negative feelings. I should be thankful to her for making this medical procedure on me. And then she continued describing a few other medical procedures that required putting something in someone's butthole.
Yeah, it sounds like Larry Nassar. But the fucking asshole expects me to treat her like a mother. I don't have the count of times she had explained to me that there is a Hadith that says: "Paradise is beneath the mothers' feet."
Regardless of how true such Hadith is, she is a rapist to me since that day, not a mother. Even though I accepted her excuse ever since that day, I would often accuse her of enjoying to harm me.
I think that's the reason she improved her methods when it came to my younger brother.
He had this mysterious illness that made him throw up, and she began bringing him to doctors after doctors till she finally ended up at a doctor that she claimed to be the best in this field. Sedighe would never walk any distance for me, and because the doctor's office was too far away, I believed my brother's condition was really serious.
After the endoscopy results came in: he's lactose intolerant!
Sedighe had kept giving him at least one glass of milk per night. She was telling us that this is the way she's making him stop relying on her breast milk. But there is no way on earth a mother can keep continuing giving her son something that makes him throw up.
A few years later, I even over-heard that she herself is lactose intolerant. I can no-way believe that she didn't know it. I still remember she was explaining to me how shocked everyone was that a young child like my brother had been sent for an endoscopy, but she wanted to help her son stop throwing up!
It made no sense that when she returned, she would turn back and explain to me in graphic detail, the medical procedure doctors have performed on him with her in the room. Sure, mothers get traumatized when their child goes through something painful, but you don't talk with a young child about your parenting traumas. But she had no feelings. She wasn't sad, she wasn't angry, she didn't cry, she didn't wish consolation from me, even if she had wished, I was young enough that I was just traumatized by being explained the procedure.
Sedighe kept telling me stories about events that would traumatize me without one drop of tears.
Borderline personality disorders are the best listeners for monsters. Because people with borderline are so shallow on self-sense that they can keep listening and listening and not having any emotional, nor judgmental reaction.
I had begun to consider that "medical emergency" procedure she performed on me with her own hands as rape since quite a while, but I would not have suspected the same to be true about my younger brother had it not been for Peter A. Levine writing at the end of his book:
Of course, not every childhood accident produces a delayed traumatic reaction. Some have no residual effect at all. Others, including those viewed as "minor" and forgotten incidents of childhood, can have significant aftereffects. A fall, a seemingly benign surgical procedure, the loss of a parent through death or divorce, severe illness, even circumcision, and other routine medical procedures can all cause traumatic reactions later in life, deeding on how the child experiences them at the time they occur.
Peter A. Levine and Ann Fredrick write "other routine medical procedures", but endoscopy isn't really a "routine" medical procedure for a toddler, especially when the only issue is intolerance to lactose! No illness.
Since I became more involved with my own trauma of the man who raped me some few years after Sedighe had raped me, I began researching more the tales of rape victims and one thing that stands out: though there might be opportunistic rapists in adults, or a lapse of self-control or whatever, when it comes to child-rapists, it's rarely only one single isolated case.
I'm not sure, how confident I would have been in calling her a rapist so publicly if I haven't heard of Larry Nasser but "a medical procedure" is almost the perfect disguise for a mother to rape her own offspring. But it's not entirely perfect, because rape leaves its marks on its victims.
It is fascinating what a high price a human being can pay to satisfy a pathological urge. Because in the case of Sedighe, I'm quite confident that it is a pathological urge. She is a calculative monster, no doubt about that. I mean, if I were in her shoes, I would have done the same thing to the next person. But she didn't even want to risk a toddler, maybe seeing right through her lies that it wasn't a medical emergency to put something in his butthole. So she leveled up her game: giving him at least a glass of milk every night. Changing him to so many doctors until one of them finally prescribe the ultimate examination: endoscopy. Then she was satisfied. When she was telling me the pain he had gone through and how they have inserted a tube in his butt, and how big and unfit for his butt it was: she was satisfied. Her sick urge fed!
It's horrible. I can't believe it a woman gets herself through pregnancy and two years of bringing up a child to then rape him. That's so sick. I don't know how she can lie to herself about being our mother; if anything, she is a monster to our lives, not a mother. The moment you rape someone every parent-child connection you could have had is gone. It's the end of your parenthood license.
I think my brother is unluckier because it is going to be harder for him to accept that those doctors themselves were fooled by a rapist to rape him in front of her to gratifying her pathological urges. But at the same time, to him, that woman is less of a rapist than she is to me.
I was so blatantly raped as a toddler and had accepted her deception, that later when I was old enough to know that I don't want any adults to wash me, a grown-up man raped me in the shower and explained to my father right in front of me that he's teaching me to wash myself properly. I didn't even comment on his lie. I was the kid who was known for saying the darnedest things without noticing I'm hurting someone's feeling or some social niceties. But with that man, I just didn't want to feel the same humiliation and violation I had felt when Sedighe laughed and dismissed my agony.
The fact that she was talking with the phone at the same time still makes me feel so violated and so worthless. Almost as if I'm so worthless that she can even rape me while multitasking. Me being raped is one of the chores for her.
I never psychologically developed after that. I began to tell myself bigger and bigger lies about why she loves me and why she is my mother and why I have to be grateful and thankful and kind to them.
I don't know really how to forgive a man who married and have kids with a woman who rapes her own offsprings when they are male. But forgiving him is at least, something I can hope to do one day, but hers never. It's over. I see the Sedighe before raping me as a mother, and I'm grateful and indebted to her for giving birth to me and taking care of me till I was about two or three years old, but after that incident: she's nothing but a rapist to me.
I used to watch movies for figuring out how to deal with my feelings for A. S. But something seemed like an unsolvable oddity to me: the only characters I could find resembling my conditions were women.
I don't believe men should only pick men as role models, but when it comes to romance, I do believe there are minor superficial differences, and regardless, I should have found someone resembling me in a male character, but I never did.
Now I see the reason: the woman who raped me and I have built all these lies allowing me to believe that she is my mother and she loves me and everything.
Of course, I'm never going to see that A. S. didn't love me. How could I? Of course, I'm going to act like a girl who had lost her virginity to a fuck-boy and can't see that that boy didn't have no feelings for her and just took advantage of her body.
By the way, A. S. and I had no erotic interaction, and yet I was grieving over her loss like a girl who had lost her virginity to a boy he had day dreamt of having kids and a house and etc. with him and living happily ever after together.
Years and years passed by, and I never could understand why I should not have had that much affection for A. S., to begin with: she wasn't loving me.
But I had loved and sacrificed so many things for my rapists that by the time I met A. S. even if she was the grand-daughter of the man who raped me that many years ago I would willingly allow her to do with my body whatever she wished to.
I had absolutely no idea about so many things, and also no idea that I don't have no idea. Instead of those ideas, I had all the wrong thought patterns. The thought patterns that had allowed me to accept my rapist is a loving mother to me.
But how true was my perception that she is a "loving mother to me"? The only reason she is nice to us is that, if she is not nice, other people would accuse her of abandoning her children.
In fact, that same logic was what she would tell us when we were young children. Back then I thought that's her way of saying, "I like you, and I care about you" but now I know, it has nothing to do with her upbringing and that she had never been in an environment where you can say to someone else "I like you."
The only positive remark I remember from her is saying, "you made me feel so proud" because some other mother had praised me against her own son in front of her. Which under closer inspection reveals itself that such a sentiment is not really meaning anything positive about the receiver, but it is saying positive things about the person who is telling it.
But in retrospect, I think, it was my false childhood expectation that a rapist would say, "I like you" to her sex toy. I'm her possession, not her son.
In fact, in recent years, she has over and over repeated this sentiment: "no matter what you do, you'll always be my son!" which I don't believe has anything to do with the fact that she will try to be a kind and loving mother to me, but the fact that I'm "her son," which in her language means "she owns me."
I don't know if there are other victims to this monster, but I don't want to be a prisoner to the lies I've told myself about who she is and what her motives are. She is my rapist. Her first priority in life is owning me and exercising her ownership over me. And of course, covering the tracks of her crime by playing the role of a good mother. But she isn't even giving it a "try" to "play that role" she is just faking as little aspects of it as possible;
The only thing she is motivated by in her parenthood duties is if other people notice it that "no mother would do this or that," if it's a situation like that she will do it. Otherwise, she will only do something when she knows she can use it to keep us prisoners to her ownership.
There is no good enough punishment for any child rapist, but especially not for a mother who had claimed that role all these years since. She didn't just rape me, she took my mother from me, and by stretch, also my father. How can he be a father when he has failed to protect me from her and then that other rapist when it happened so close to his presence!
Not only she ruined my childhood and adulthood and every aspect and possibility of meaningful attachment in my life, but she also took away my father and mother from me and replaced them with a monster as the mother and a half-father half-accomplice and to some extent a bit a victim of a monster as the father. I have nothing to forgive her, and she left no room for forgiveness. All these years, she didn't do a goddamned thing. She never repented for raping me, worse she graphically described how she had caused others to rape my brother in front of her eyes for a medical exam that was absolutely unnecessary. She just needed to stop this whole giving-him-milk ritual she had so devoted herself to it. I remember it so very well, she was so super encouraging of him to drink a glass of milk that even me, who wouldn't drink milk, began drinking milk. Perhaps I wished she would pay some affection to me, too. Now I see her obsession with him drinking milk has nothing to do with a mother's affection for her toddler but everything to do with her crime plan.
At the time, I was too young to be suspicious of her, otherwise, I would have forced the glass out of his hand and hit her in the face, regardless of however she would have punished me. I wouldn't risk my brother being raped by her, even if it had meant me to die. I mean, to be frank with you, if I had died, I would not have suffered all these years. Perhaps she would/could have killed me and sit behind bars. Not a perfect ending but good enough compared to the life I've been living so far. There is no way to describe how too painful it is to live as a childhood rape victim to someone who hasn't had that past.
When your past is being raped by your mother and then being raised all these years by the same fucking asshole, it's really hard to find any hope, any realistic forecast that your future is going to be more fortunate.
In the movie "A Fortunate Man", the lead female character turns to the male character and explains:
In fact, I feel very lucky to have known you. All the joy and sorrow you brought me, gave meaning to my life. This school I've put my heart into, it now exists because of your struggle much as mine.
There is no happiness in my life, as I've sacrificed everything that could have ever brought any happiness in my life for the childish aspiration of having a loving relationship with the individuals who weren't my mother, nor father's friend, but rapists.
And if that shall be the sentiment at the ending of my life, I hope someday, some people find the same attitude as Jakobe in "A Fortunate Man".
This text is my attempt for building the ground for forgiving my self and be forgiven by others whose affection and love I could not register, nor reciprocate if there were any such individuals. As the girl, I mentioned at the beginning of this piece.
For the woman who raped us, I hope, as much as in my power, I would be capable of helping her healing from whatever the root causes of her pathological urges and the rest of her personality disorder complications. For her crimes, however, I wish one day she pays the full retribution in God's arrangement. There is no forgiveness for her crime. Raping a child and then remaining her mother forever is just too much. It's not only ruining someone before they have built any psychological defense mechanism, but you're also taking away the opportunity of ever developing such capacities by remaining their parent. That's beyond horrible. That's literarily life-long psychological entrapment and torture. In fact, it's far worse than it, it is torturing someone to the point that they begin to torture themselves by default even without your presence, and they begin not to run for the door when you're not there, and they begin to seek themselves others who would torture them just like you did, because they don't know any better what they might be worthy of.
I hope I can find my way to full recovery and rebuilding all these ruined and never made psychological developments, I hope I find the strength and avenues of adequate revenge, instead of my feelings of hurt making others who had no responsibility for them a target. I hope the Lord guide us to live a worthwhile life.